


Miss September

by iLurked



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Written pre 1x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iLurked/pseuds/iLurked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one is exempt from the wild, carefree days of the young; no one. Not even the prim, proper and rule-follower Jemma Simmons. Fitz has photographic evidence of such a wild night, forgotten in the deep recesses of his bunk, just waiting to be discovered by a certain hacker, to be shared with an appreciative specialist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss September

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bootleg](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/44881) by CSI Clue. 



Sometimes, Skye felt like everybody in the Bus performed important functions save for her.

May was in the cockpit to make sure that the Bus stays in the air despite the damage it sustained from their latest mission. Ward and Coulson were interrogating the latest baddie they had captured. FitzSimmons were in the lab to ensuring that the bio-weapon they had acquired from said baddie was safely contained.

And Skye? Skye was bored out of her mind.

On her way to her bunk, she saw that Fitz left his door open. It looked like a tornado had recently hit it, as there was a mad scramble earlier while he was searching for the specs of a thingamajig that would doojigger his latest whatchamacallit. On top of his messy bed, a black box lay invitingly open, with ribbons of broken duct tape where Fitz wrote “DO NOT OPEN! FOR MY EYES ONLY! THIS MEANS YOU, JEMMA!!!!” in his precise, block handwriting.

If that was not an invitation to pry, Skye did not know what is.

With manic glee, Skye started rummaging through the box, taking out various action figures and gizmos and gadgets. She did not see anything interesting until she got to the bottom.

From underneath, a set of mischievous chocolate brown eyes stared back at Skye. With a jubilant squeal, Skye pulled out a glossy magazine bannering on its cover the notorious CTO of Stark Industries wearing nothing but a naughty smile and a mechanical right hand to cover his even naughtier bits.

“Oh, Fitz. You naughty, naughty boy.” Skye flipped through her discovery in near manic glee and found that it was not a magazine but last year’s calendar. Specifically, last year’s racy Stark Industries calendar, perhaps available only to select employees of said Stark Industries.

Skye almost dropped the calendar when she got to September.

With a grin that could only described as evil, she took her phone from her pocket and took a picture of hot little Miss September. Then, she sent the picture to someone she knew who would appreciate it most.

…

Either they were getting better at their jobs or the bad guys were getting stupider every year. Coulson hadn’t even finished with his first question when the man in front of him had broken down and started singing like the proverbial canary.

That was why Ward, who was leaning against the door and whose role so far was limited to glowering threateningly, did not even think twice about pulling out his phone when it vibrated inside his pocket.

A picture message from Skye? Ward frowned. Skye knew that they were in the middle of an important mission and would not have sent said message save for the direst of emergencies, right?

Wrong.

After downloading the picture from his trainee, Ward immediately felt his jaw drop, his ears grow hot, his knees buckle and his blood migrate towards his nether portions.

“Uh, sir,” Ward gulped and hoped that his face was not as red as he felt it was.

Both Coulson and the man they were interrogating turned to Ward expectantly.

“I need to go, uh,” Ward gulped. “Go. Out. That’s it. I need to go out. Sir.”

“You need to go out?” Coulson repeated incredulously. “In the middle of an interrogation?”

“Skye just messaged me.” he was able to bite out. “About an emergency. Out there.”

The look Coulson gave him told him that they would have a discussion about interrogation protocols later, but he did allow Ward to leave.

This mess was Skye’s fault. She knew better than interrupt. He was going to kill her: slowly, painfully, creatively. He was going to enjoy every moment of it, too. But that would have to wait. First, he needed a cold shower.

…

“Never interrupt me during an interrogation again!” Ward snapped at Skye, who was in her bunk, furiously typing at her laptop.

Skye did not even look up. “I just hacked the database of the photographer who took the picture,” she said. “If you forgo making me run laps, I’ll send the proofs of the photo shoot directly to your phone.”

Ward froze. (And in that moment, he realized that he was just a man. A disciplined and methodical man who was trained to kill with his bare hands, yes, but just a man nonetheless.)

“Deal.”

He didn’t even mind the triumphant laughter that followed him all the way back to the shower room.

He was, after all, accompanied by the mental image of the photograph of Miss September: an exquisitely sensual biochemist sprawled suggestively on top of a holotable wearing nothing but an open lab coat; her modestly protected only by her dainty hands, looking like she had just been roughly and thoroughly loved.


End file.
